


A Dream of Spring

by LiquidLobotomy



Series: A Good Man Goes to War [6]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Developing Relationship, M/M, Shadows Rising, Terror by Torchlight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:20:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27486424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiquidLobotomy/pseuds/LiquidLobotomy
Summary: “Come on,” Flynn urged, laying a hand on Shaw’s arm. “I’ve scarce seen you for more than a moment since we returned from Zandalar.”Flynn put on his most charming smile. He’d promised Shaw he would be patient with him, and he had really tried to be. He knew that a spy’s trust was gained even more slowly than that of a seasoned captain.Upon returning from Zandalar, Mathias Shaw struggles with navigating a certain ship’s captain, keeping him at arm's length.Set between Shadows Rising and Terror by Torchlight.
Relationships: Flynn Fairwind/Mathias Shaw
Series: A Good Man Goes to War [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1923286
Comments: 9
Kudos: 29





	A Dream of Spring

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bideru](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bideru/gifts).



> @bideru - I know I said it in the comments of Eat Pray Stab, I still cannot believe you took something I had thrown into These Small Hours as a little bit of worldbuilding, the joy of the pop-culture Easter egg if you will and turned it into something delightfully magical. I hadn’t thought that far ahead and I couldn’t have done it better. I hope I did that a little bit of justice in this link to your piece in return as a huge thank you for the praise and support. 
> 
> And also, @mice, I mentioned that you may just get your wish. Here it is, in it’s TbT glory. This series’ Mathias is a stubborn bastard.
> 
> Recommended listening continued from What’s For Breakfast.

@}—>—

_And now I'm itching for the tall grass  
And longing for the breeze  
I need to step outside  
Just to see if I can breathe  
I gotta find a way out  
Maybe there's a way out_

Day seven.

Mathias sat on the hard, gold slab of his cell, back against the wall with his knee propped, a lazy arm draped across it. His head tipped back against the cool metal surrounding the interior of the tight room and his eyes were closed, drifting in and out of... he couldn’t tell what. Exhaustion? Boredom? Did it matter?

He cracked an eye open, glancing at the blade of grass that lay nearby, mocking him. He picked it up and ran the blade through his fingers reverently as the rumbling sounds of celebration thundered above him. He wondered idly if the intel he had gathered had proven fruitful after all, given that he had yet to gain an audience with the young queen.

His thoughts meandered towards Fairwind, as they were oft to do as of late. Running his thumb against the edge of the grass where it was cut precisely from the earth, he went back to that field on the fringes of his dreams. The spring breeze on his face would be warm, and he could see it dancing through the chestnut tresses of Flynn’s boar’s tail. 

A dream of spring just out of his reach. He forgot for just a moment that the heat of Zandalar belied the fact that winter was on its way out to bring a change of season.

Shaw’s eyes flicked up at the sound of the lock to his cell door turning open. His eyebrow quirked. The guards never opened the door, not even to bring him slop to eat, using the sliding slot instead. The golden slab separating him from his freedom swung open, the faint torchlight illuminating the hall darkened by the silhouette of a massive figure ducking into the cell.

Thrall.

The orc stepped across the threshold, waiting for the door to be shut again with a thud. Shaw noted the parcel he carried in his hand, thick fingers wrapped around the cloth easily when it would have been an arm full for himself. The big warrior inclined his head quickly, indicating he wanted Shaw to make room on the bench.

The spymaster slid to the edge of the slab, allowing Thrall to drop next to him, the bench giving a slight shake under his weight. The orc blew out a deep breath, the softest growl humming underneath. The parcel was placed in the gap between them. Shaw knew better than to reach for it.

“I believe I owe you a debt of gratitude,” Thrall rumbled softly. “If you hadn’t been trespassing on Zandalari lands to be captured, we would have been in more dire straits than we would have ever known.”

Shaw remained silent. 

“The information you had uncovered was... invaluable,” the orc continued. He let out a great sigh. “I never thought I’d be tied down again, a leader for the Horde once more,” he said absently. “I didn’t ask for it. Had found a place of peace amongst a farmstead and fields of wheat. Tell me, Spymaster, what do you know of freedom?”

What _did_ Shaw really know of freedom? _She chose Stormwind for me, too._ Pathonia set him on a path to be trapped in a gilded cage for the Crown his entire life. The one and only time he had tried to reach for a taste of true freedom before, it cost him his best friend and lover, all those years ago. He bowed his head and twirled the blade of grass in his hand.

“Is there someone waiting for you?” Shaw lifted his gaze, keeping his face impassively guarded while finding mild curiosity in the orc’s blue eyes. Thrall flicked his glance quickly between the blade of grass in his hand and his face.

“No,” the spymaster retorted softly, deliberately holding back his desires and the whisper of Fairwind in the back of his throat.

“No? Or not yet?” Thrall tilted his head and raised his eyebrow. The scowl on Shaw’s lips deepened as the orc let out a small mirthless chuckle. “I’m not asking for information to use against you, Shaw. I have a family; a mate and two younglings. I give you that willingly, not because I’m a fool but because I wouldn’t want them to be used against me. And I don’t believe you would, if you had something to hold onto, either.”

Shaw considered his words. He had never known the former Warchief to be cruel when it came to the years of unrest between the factions. No, that was saved for Garrosh, Sylvanas. The few times he had observed Thrall in any capacity, he found that the orc was more of a logical and rational mind for diplomacy and peace, a rarity among the barbaric Horde. Even Lady Proudmoore had spoken for him on more than one occasion before Theramore, especially to Varian, who was brash, tempered, and quick to rush into conflict. He nodded, an unspoken accord between the two of them.

“Talanji has agreed to your release,” said Thrall thoughtfully. “There is a vrykul merchant vessel berthed in the Port of Zandalar with the papers for it to sail to Stormwind without interference.”

“And the catch?” Shaw asked skeptically with a raised eyebrow. Thrall did not conceal the small smile around his tusks.

“Smart. I wouldn’t expect you to easily accept that giving you back to your king would be without condition.” He picked up a sealed parchment from under the parcel and handed it to the spymaster. “There is some… _thing_ aboard the ship that is to be delivered along with this into the hands of Tyrande Whisperwind, and her hands alone. A debt left unpaid, but hopefully, it could be a start.” 

Shaw did not consider himself to be a stupid man. He didn’t fail to recognize that the implication wasn’t really some _thing_ but some _one_. He nodded again, in acceptance to this term. The envelope would remain sealed until delivered to its intended recipient.

“My effects?” he asked, despite the deep feeling that his weapons were a lost cause.

Thrall inhaled sharply, reaching for the parcel between them. “I was told that you carried quite the arsenal,” he replied. “They’ve distributed most of the knives and poisons they found on you. I did, however, manage to retrieve these.” The orc unfolded the cloth, revealing Shaw’s daggers. “These are fine weapons,” he complimented. “Well cared for. I can appreciate that. It says a lot about you, Shaw.” The orc warrior presented them to him easily in one hand. 

The spymaster eyed Thrall and his daggers skeptically. “And what’s to say I won’t turn them on you once they’re in my hands?” he asked cautiously.

“Because just as I don’t believe you’d use my family against me, I trust that you wouldn’t take me from them either. Especially in a heavily guarded jail cell half a continent away.” The orc’s face softened, in as much as it could. “Just promise me to tell them. Tell them every day, if you have to. Don’t let that _not yet_ slip away. Turn it into a _right now_.”

The rogue took the daggers reverently from the orc’s hand, inspecting them meticulously. Pathonia had gifted them to him when he made First Finger, his mother’s blades. For years, he kept the utmost care of them, cleaning them with a soft cotton cloth and a bit of oil every three days. He had done so the day before his capture on the Arva, he recalled. 

_A true, master assassin has two tools at their disposal, Mathias: knowing the difference between doing what is right and doing what is necessary, and a pair of well-kept, sharpened blades._

Thrall clapped Shaw on the back as he rose from the bench, a loud crack in his joints reverberating off the gold walls. “Come, Master Shaw. Your freedom awaits.”

@}—>—

_I'm walking on a tightrope  
I'm wrapped up in vines  
I think we'll make it out  
But you just gotta give me time_

_Alright… just like you practiced in the prison. Deep breath. Talk to him._

Mathias put one foot in front of the other. Softly. Featherlight steps. 

Dusk was starting to settle over the Trade District, the street lamps just barely starting to glow across the pavement outside. The tavern was crowded for early evening. He crossed the threshold of the inn, scanning the room trying to find the man he had asked to meet him, praying he was wise enough to take the table in the darkened corner in the back. 

His eyes fell upon the owner of the building, his master recruiter and one of the oldest members of his payroll, Waltion Freemore, instead. Mathias narrowed his eyes when the old man lifted his teacup in a mock salute with a smirk under his white moustache. Smug bastard.

The spymaster flicked his glance to a table, still in the back but brightly illuminated by lamp light shining down over a familiar boar’s tail, highlighting the chestnut locks with shimmers of copper and amber. The captain’s fingers stroked and twirled the blade of grass, much like he did while sitting on that golden slab.

Flynn.

He silently moved through the crowd, settling into the chair adjacent to the captain’s without a sound. He held his breath, staring at the table, his mind racing through all the things he wanted to talk about at rapid speed before forgetting all of it.

“Hey,” Fairwind said, pulling Mathias from his own head. The spymaster let out the breath he had been holding, and finally looked at him. Really looked at him.

The captain’s eyes held imperceptibly darkened circles and his cheekbones appeared sharper than he had last seen him, not belying the slightness of the man he had embraced on the ship a fair few hours earlier. And damn, if he wasn’t the most beautiful sight he had the fortune of seeing since his release.

“Hello,” he muttered softly, sounding every bit nervous and awkward as he felt. He swallowed thickly and jerked his head, flagging down their barmaid to order a glass of liquid courage. “Did you pay already?” he asked as Anna scurried off to the bar to fill the order.

Flynn shook his head. “Ran a tab.” The captain reached out and placed a hand over both of Shaw’s. He hadn’t even noticed he had been fidgeting. “S’just me, mate. Same bloke swapping stories on the _Arva_.”

Mathias nodded, averting his eyes. _You can do this, talk to him._ A glass of whiskey appeared before him and he slipped a hand free to take a small swig, the notes familiar from a whisper of a lifetime away. 

_Drink up, Mattie. That’s some damn good, expensive whiskey and you don’t want to fall behind, do you?_

Shaw flicked his glance up to Flynn, his hand receiving an encouraging squeeze.

“I had this whole speech planned. Been going over it for days, really,” he admitted. “Then I realized that I am... absolute shit at this.”

“Why don’t we start with this,” Flynn replied, holding up the grass. “The fuck is this, mate?”

“A promise,” Mathias said quietly. 

The captain smirked. “Didn’t think the great Spymaster Shaw would be one for grand romantic gestures,” he quipped playfully.

“Look,” the spymaster began pointedly, “I’m not used to this, of… wanting something, especially something so selfish and maddening and…” he trailed. “And I do. Want it. So badly that it scares the fuck out of me.”

 _There is_ someone _I would like to... get to know better. But such things are best taken slowly. Carefully._

He searched Flynn’s eyes, finding no jest, no judgement. “I’m asking for time. And patience.” He took another swig of his whiskey, the warmth enveloping him. “Perhaps, not explicitly in that order.”

“If that’s what you need,” Flynn reassured, letting out a soft chuckle. “I’m willing to give you the world right now, mate. You’ve no idea how much it means to have you back,” he breathed.

Mathias exhaled a breath of relief. “I need to report to my office in the morning. There’s still more briefings and reports to file because of this mess. Where are you at?”

“The Oink and Squeak,” Flynn replied. His grin grew wide and waggled his eyebrows. “Why, what did you have in mind?”

“Fairwind,” Shaw warned. The captain pulled his hands in mock surrender. “I’m not quite... _ready_ for that just yet. However, I wouldn’t mind accompanying you back. My flat’s not far.” 

Flynn pouted. “Not going to show me your fancy digs?”

“Maybe some other time,” said Mathias with a shake of his head and a smile on his face. The pirate was downright incorrigible. He flagged the barmaid once more as he drained the rest of his drink. “Can we get our tab?” he asked softly when Anna appeared at his side.

“Oh, it’s been handled,” she said with a wave of her hand. The men looked at each other quizzically. “The old man insisted on taking care of you boys this evening. I hope you have a lovely night,” she said before moving off to one of her other tables.

Mathias’ jaw clicked. Meddling old fool.

“Old man?” Flynn asked with a quirked eyebrow.

“The owner is one of my operatives,” Mathias grumbled. “Do me a favor and wait for me outside, if you will. I need to have a word with the innkeeper.” 

“I’ve waited this long,” Flynn smiled softly, pulling his hand back as he lifted from his seat, “I think I could spare a few more moments.”

Shaw rolled his eyes. “Dolt,” he muttered under his breath as he moved down the length of the bar. He stopped for a moment and glanced at the dark table in the corner, finding it vacant, before continuing to the end of the bar where the innkeeper Allison was washing her hands. He waited until he drew her attention, blinking in surprise by his presence.

“What can I do you for, _Spymaster_?” she asked, folding her arms and leaning her hip against the sink. 

“Anna said my tab has been taken care of,” he said with a furrow in his brow. “Why?”

The innkeeper let out a quiet snort. “Why does the old man do anything? He fills my coffers, so I don’t question it.”

The spymaster nodded, knowing he wasn’t in a position to question the motive either. “Er, does Anna have a purse back there?” he asked genuinely. Allison simply nodded. “Can you bring it over, please?”

The innkeeper eyed him suspiciously, but acquiesced, fetching the leather pouch. She placed it on the barmaid’s station in front of him. For the second time that day, her eyes grew wide as another twenty gold pieces found their way into Anna’s pocket.

Allison lifted her gaze at him in complete awe. “I didn’t think I would ever say this twice, but I never thought I’d see the day,” she breathed.

“Mind telling me what that means?”

A smile crept across the innkeeper’s lips. “Keep ahold of that one,” she replied. “He looks good on you.”

@}—>—

_I tried to read between the lines  
I tried to look in your eyes  
I want a simple explanation  
For what I'm feeling inside_

Mathias exited the platform of the Deeprun Tram as the bell chimed the sixteenth hour of the afternoon. Right on schedule. He had received a message that morning that a package had arrived for him in Ironforge, so he sent Shiv off to inform Flynn that he would possibly be late for dinner and to wait for him at his flat instead. He hoped the captain wouldn’t be too put out by the gesture. 

He ducked through an alcove that led to the Great Forge and crossed through the center of the city to another small alley that opened out into the Mystic Ward. Tucked away in a corner, Shaw entered the small inconspicuous bookshop, ducking to enter through the short doorway, adorned with a sign that read Fell’s Tomes and Antiquities.

Mathias approached the counter, pulling the hood from his cloak as he rang the bell near the till. The owner of the establishment, a stocky, white-haired priest, poked his head from the back room, shushing the company he was keeping back there before coming out into the shop. 

“Ah, Mr. Shaw,” he said with a terse smile. “I didn’t realize you would be arriving so quickly at my message.” 

“Yes, well,” Mathias huffed, “you tend to keep fairly unusual hours. I wanted to make sure my parcels were retrieved at the earliest of both our conveniences.”

“I appreciate that,” the priest nodded. “Let me fetch them for you.” He scurried off to the back room, allowing Mathias to wander. 

He scanned the titles on the shelves, idly wondering if this book or that would peak Flynn’s interest. He felt bad that he had to brush him off more often than not, the times they spent together suffering under Mathias arriving late in the hour on a good night. 

He was holding the captain at arm’s length, he knew, but he needed the time to reconcile his head and his heart. He only had the experience of one close relationship, and it had ended with his lover’s head in a box presented to the King. He shuddered even thinking about it.

The bell at the door tinkled softly, alerting the entrance of another customer, which was rare in his experiences patroning the bookshop. He flicked his eyes to the doorway, his eyebrow raising curiously. 

Shaw watched as Magister Umbric crossed the threshold, the ren’dorei’s face alight in wonder of the piles of tomes strewn in an odd organized chaos. To his surprise, a pair of familiar green eyes peered from behind the mage, locking with his.

Valeera.

He hadn’t expected to see the king’s personal spy in a bookshop within the depths of the mountain of Ironforge. She placed a hand on her companion’s arm, muttering something for only the magister, noting the way he brushed his fingers across her back as she moved silently to approach the spymaster. 

“Of all the places for you to turn up,” she mused, “I certainly didn’t expect a dusty old bookshop.”

“I could say the same of you, Ms Sanguinar,” he retorted dryly. “Though with the company you keep, I shouldn’t be surprised.”

“Fair enough.” She narrowed her eyes and tilted her head. “Tell me, have you managed to take that vacation you mentioned when last we spoke?”

“Hardly,” Mathias said evenly with a roll of his eyes. “Too much was left undone during my absence I’m afraid.”

“That almost sounds like you’re saying that your team is incompetent,” she teased.

“No, they were indisposed in aiding my return,” he countered. “Renzik is more than capable of handling my job when I cannot.” 

Just as Valeera shot him a pointed look, the bookseller emerged from the back with an armload of books. “I’ll be right with you, Magister,” he called to the void elf perusing the shelves. “Here you are, Master Shaw. Two advance copies each of the last two Moltenbottom volumes,” Fell said as he deposited the books on the counter, separating them into two piles, each containing a copy of _An Era For Worgen_ and _A Vision of Springtide_ by Gregor L. L. Moltenbottom. The priest nodded and meandered off to assist Umbric.

“Two copies each?” Valeera remarked incredulously. 

“For the King,” Shaw replied quickly. 

The blood elf tilted her head and folded her arms. “Anduin stopped reading these ages ago,” she said, her voice laced with suspicion. 

Mathias shrugged, feeling a slight heat brushing his cheeks. “I thought maybe these would spark his interest again,” he said softly.

“I see,” she nodded. “Who is the other set for?”

The spymaster bit the inside of his cheek, averting his eyes. Infuriating menace. “Myself,” he admitted after a moment. He lifted his glance back to find her smirk had gone wide and her eyes dancing with mirth.

“You know, I had wondered back then. I mean, how else would you have known when a _storybook_ had been released?” She poked his side playfully, earning a soft growl. 

“Must you?”

“I might,” she teased. “Seems the fair captain has kept you fit, hm?”

Mathias didn’t answer immediately. He didn’t have the heart to tell her that he hadn’t let Flynn that close, not just yet. “The magister?”

She turned her gaze away, finding the ren’dorei deep in conversation with the shop owner. “I did warn you that happiness is a fleeting thing,” she replied wistfully as Umbric and Fell approached the counter, making an exchange of coin for his purchase.

“Will these books be all for you, Master Shaw?” the shopkeep asked as he packaged the purchases. 

“Not yet, I’m in need for something for a friend,” he answered. “Though all I can recall that he reads are Steamy Romance novels,” he added, scrunching up his nose in that admission.

“I do have a few of those around here. Do you happen to know which one he's read?”

“He collects them, so most of them?” Mathias’ ears burned as he heard Valeera’s snarky giggle over his shoulder.

“Has he perused _Stormy Seas_? That’s the newest volume,” Fell inquired.

The spymaster was beginning to think his idea of a peace offering to Flynn was a lost cause. “He has, unfortunately.” 

Fell hummed thoughtfully. “I think I may have something, then. Wait right here.” Once again, he skittered off to the back room. Mathias didn’t fail to notice the sharp cackle that came from behind the closed door.

Sighing, he took one package and held it out to Valeera. “Can you take these to the King?”

“Should I tell him who they are from?” Mathias shook his head. “Shaw?”

Mathias brought his eyes to hers, Umbric at her side once more with a loose arm around her waist. Her expression said so much. He could see it there, just as he had nearly two years ago now. _Concern._ As a _person_. In as much as either could give to one other. 

“Yes, Ms Sanguinar,” he replied, trying very hard not to sound exasperated.

“I meant what I said then, and I mean it now,” she said softly, her fingers brushing along Umbric’s so quickly Mathias could have dreamt it. “Find it while you can. Tell him.”

“Here we are, my dear boy,” Fell announced cheerfully as he appeared from the back room once again, drawing Shaw’s attention. He approached the man with a fairly thin, sea green hardcover book, adorned in bronze leaf. “Not too many of these made it through publication, a rare find. Only one run, I’m afraid, but I am certain your friend does not have this one.”

Shaw tried to look back to where the pair of elves stood by his side, finding them gone. He turned back to the priest, taking the book from him to inspect it. The cover was in pristine condition, not a fray in the linen or blank spot in the gilded lettering. _The Chasm of Shadow: The Sordid Tale of the Dread Captain Mishima and His Manservant Smeeble._

“I’ll take it,” Mathias said, handing a pouch of gold coins to Fell. “Will five hundred suffice?”

“Oh, dear. I couldn’t accept this much for your purchase,” the bookseller replied modestly. 

“It’s quite alright, Fell,” chided Shaw. “You’ve handled my purchases in the past with the utmost discretion. I appreciate that.”

Mathias left the shop, his coffer a bit lighter, but with two books he was looking forward to devouring whenever he had the chance to take that vacation he had dreamed of. He chuckled to himself as he absently recalled that they were a week into spring. He casually trekked back towards the Deeprun Tram. 

_Don’t let that_ not yet _slip away._

_Tell him._

With that, he made the firm decision not to turn back. He would take a step forward, as much as he could. He still needed a little time, a little patience, but he vowed to give a little in return. And as he handed a perfect little sea green book to Flynn Fairwind, he asked him to stay in his flat.

**Author's Note:**

> So, the Steamy Romance Novel that our dear bookseller (yes, yes, we all know who he is) provided Mathias... that has been spawned out of two very ridiculous conversations. One was on discord with my husband and one of his best friends as they watched hubby play Sea of Thieves (which has become a legit source of information for me writing about ships and sailing because I know fuck all about that), which turned into a very heavy innuendo fest. The other conversation happened with my non-wow bestie over something we found on GoodReads that I just can’t even and seriously we were laughing so freaking hard over messenger that it has wormed its way into my series. I know I keep putting off getting back to the full group with Anduin and Tae, Jaina and Arthas, and I swear that is coming. But I need a laugh, you need a laugh, and that’s happening next.


End file.
